


Starscape

by littlemiss_m



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU - no prophecy, Depressed Noctis, Engagement, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, luna the marriage councelor, minimal angst, noct and prom just wanna get hitched but the astrals are dicks as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: As ordained by Bahamut's Law, the kings of Lucis may not marry without the blessings of the Astrals.(In which Noctis and Prompto are engaged but cannot marry until Luna confirms that the Astrals have blessed the union.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my twentieth work in this fandom! Time sure flies when you're having fun :)
> 
> This is what happens when a fantasy writer is given a fantasy world with a barely fleshed-out fantasy religion.
> 
> (Also look I wrote something where Prompto isn't depressed/anxious/dying!! I'm branching out from my comfort zone lmao)

On September first, M.E. 760, mere days after the 25th birthday of Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, the Crown of Lucis announces what the public has been anticipating for nearly a decade: his engagement to his long-time boyfriend, Crownsguard Prompto Argentum. The King is the first to give his public blessings, followed by his Council and the rest of the Lucian court. The people show their acceptance just as readily, and foreign leaders hasten to send their congratulations as soon as the news are broken.

In Tenebrae, Ravus tweets his well-wishes adressed to Prompto (whom he actually likes) and ”his future husband,” (whom he absolutely loathes). Luna, as her duty calls, holds back her tongue and her joy, and instead invites Noctis and Prompto to Tenebrae for the last, Astral-ordained part to finalize their engagement.

* * *

Though Eos is vast and diverse, they all worship gods and deities of the same pantheon. Their ways may vary, their priorities and ceremonies different, but all who kneel before the Six agree on one thing: the Starscape.

When you close your eyes and think of the Six as a collective, you don't necessarily see them all together; it is far more likely that one Astral will stand out over the others. The others may join in on an occasion, but someone will always persist, and so a connection is wrought. This is the Starscape, the mental connection between humans and their gods: an image of your own self interacting with the Astral closest to your heart and soul, the secrets of your mind mingling with the essense of your chosen god.

It is an intimate connection. For the vast majority of Cosmogonists, it is exactly that: personal and private, something to think about on your own or to talk out with a priest or your loved ones. For the descendants of the Chosen King, it is more, for as ordained by Bahamut's Law, the kings of Lucis may not marry without the blessings of the Astrals.

* * *

When Luna closes her eyes, she sees an endless sea of blue sylleblossoms and five of the Six standing in a circle at the edges of the field. Her Starscape is almost the same as her mother's and her grandmother's, and she knows from centuries of scripture that it has been a long, long time since Ifrit last deigned to face the current Oracle. Out of the five, Ramuh and Titan stand closest to her, so near that on some days she can feel the drizzle of rain on her face and the trembling earth beneath her feet.

The sixth stands behind her. If she were to fall down backwards, cold hands would be there to catch her body; yet if she turns, the Astral turns as well, always remaining a step behind her, always guarding her back. If Luna closes her eyes a second time and pulls away from her body, looks with her mind instead of her eyes, she'll be able to see a blue-skinned woman whose wings beat frost into the air around her.

In the realm of living, Shiva wears white skin and black hair, walks by her side night and day; in Luna's Starscape, she sheds all illusions and exists as she is, an Astral instead of a messenger.

* * *

The Crown of Lucis cannot set the wedding date before Luna has accepted the marriage, yet she cannot decide the schedule for this. Noctis and Prompto visit her soon after the engagement is announced, only to leave empty-handed; it is not particularly exceptional, for the process usually lasts up to a full year, but they are disappointed all the same. Luna feels their dissatisfaction like a dagger in her heart, tries to smile through it, but her friends are dear to her and all she wishes is to see them happy.

At the end of the year, they return to Tenebrae in time for the Cosmogony festitivities. This time, Luna looks up to see the flicker of a ghost in the grand halls of her private chambers and knows it is time. She bundles up in a thick cape and steps outside, where a snow storm breaks apart before her, and lets her feet guide her towards one of the seven temples surrounding the city of Fenestala. Outside the Grand Temple of Ramuh, she stops, knowing it is Prompto who will be waiting inside; Noctis and Bahamut have already chosen each other, long before she first met him.

It's late enough in the evening that the temple is empty, the lights turned down. At the end of the long aisle, Prompto kneels before the altar, haloed by the golden candles burning around him. Shaking stray snowflakes from her coat, Luna walks up the aisle, but leaves him his space when she sees him carefully arranging offerings on the altar. A burnt piece of wood, a handful of pebbles, a larger stone smoothed by swirling water; they all carry a story.

The stone is the last gift Prompto has to offer, and he lays it down carefully, as if expecting a retaliation. Nothing happens, though, and when he finally turns to face Luna, he wears a nervous but relieved smile. ”Your Highness,” he says, ”hey. Are we doing this now?”

”Good evening, Prompto,” Luna smiles. Bypassing the question, she takes him by hand and seats them both on the first pew, right before the altar, where the candles chase shadows on their clothes and make their eyes glitter. ”You seemed a bit unsure there, did you?”

”Ooh, yeah,” Prompto gasps, chuckling nervously. ”Um, that last stone – I found it in a flooding river, back when we were collecting Noct's Armiger, and I think – I think it's more of a Leviathan thing than a Ramuh thing, but I also don't think I should go see her? If that makes sense?”

”If it makes sense for you, then that's enough,” Luna answers. There's no right or wrong in these kinds of things, only intuition, and she certainly isn't here on Eos to tell people how to believe and worship. ”Are they your Chosens, then?”

Prompto's leg twitches, a nervous tremble coursing in his body. ”Ramuh is,” he says. ”Leviathan shows up sometimes, but she's not – we don't really interact, you know? She's there but she's not... I don't want to say not important because she is, but like... she's not in focus? She's there but it's not about her, if you understand what I mean.”

”I do.” Luna thinks of Ifrit's back in her own Starscape and nods towards the offerings. ”Not many would place a gift from Leviathan on an altar dedicated to the Fulgurian.”

It's not a lie, yet there's a sense of belittling in her words. The Astrals are all interconnected, after all, and Prompto is far from being the first person to bring Ramuh and Leviathan together in his Starscape. Next to her, he flushes a red so dark it's visible in the flicker of the candles, and chuckles nervously.

”It was raining at the time,” he explains, displaying both insecurity and the endless cheer that makes him who he is; ”that's why the river was flooding. And the stone, um, it doesn't look like much now, but when it's wet, it's almost blue except for these thin streaks of fool's gold that look like thunder, and I just. It felt right.”

”And that's all that matters,” Luna says. ”What about the others? Oh, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Prompto shakes his head, grinning. ”Nah, it's fine. They're all from the travels, with Noct and the guys. The pebbles are just sort of random little things, not really important, but I picked them up during or after rainstorms, so it just seemed – fitting, to bring them here.”

”There is hardly a place on Eos that has not felt Ramuh's power,” Luna comments wryly. ”And the wood? It looks burned...?”

Prompto nods, excited. ”We set up camp one night, but there was a huge thunderstorm and we woke up to the sound of lightning striking a tree nearby,” he says. ”It was so close my ears were ringing for hours, but none of us got hurt, which is basically a miracle since the tree was, like, right outside the haven. So I picked up one of the splinters 'cause it felt like a gift from Ramuh.”

”It sounds to me like the Fulgurian is very important to you,” Luna speaks carefully. Though every child learns to access their Starscape, not everyone thinks highly of it, preferring to live their lives on their own rather than meddling with divine affairs. To her, it's one and the same, but not all agree with her.

Prompto takes a moment to answers and Luna knows he's with Ramuh. ”He's just always been there for me,” he says eventually. ”And – I really like how my Starscape makes me feel.”

The words bring a genuine smile to Luna's lips. ”Would you like to tell me?” she asks.

”Um, sure.” Prompto wrings his hands a little, lost in thought, but soon he grins and begins speaking: ”The scenery isn't always the same, but it's the most important thing in my Starscape. I'm always out in the wildnerness, like in a forest or on a plain or somewhere like that, and I'm either running or flying really fast. Sometimes, um, sometimes I'm even riding a chocobo.”

Luna can almost feel the wind toussling her hair. She smiles, mirroring Prompto's expression. ”You really love your chocobos, don't you?”

Prompto laughs. ”They're perfect!” he claims, overjoyed. ”But, uh, the Starscape. So I'm always moving really fast, and Ramuh is always somewhere behind me, but I'm not running away from him even if he's kind of following me. It's more like – the wind is behind my back, giving me more and more speed so I can go even faster, and it's basically the best feeling in the world!”

His face is red but not from embarrassment, no; he's happy and so obviously excited, his cheer infectuous. ”It sounds wonderful,” Luna says, meaning every word. There are a few themes shining through Prompto's descriptions of his Starscape, freedom and a connection with the living earth. Deep inside, she knows she'll give the Astrals' blessings to the marriage, yet she can't skip this part; Bahamut's Law orders her to ascertain the compability of Noctis and his chosen partner, never mind there is no actual list of things to look out for. All Luna has is the same intuition she uses to see the world around her, and it will have to be enough.

”Earlier, you said that the scenery is the most important part of your Starscape,” she says, trying to prompt more words out of her friend.

”Yeah, it is,” Prompto agrees easily. ”I don't really know how to explain it, but I just feel so – free, and connected, when I'm thinking about it? I mean, when I'm a bird flying in the sky, I'll be able to see so far and I'll think, 'wow, the world sure is huge and amazing,' and when I'm running on the ground I'll feel the earth under my feet and the wind in my hair, and I'm just so happy to be here and alive.”

The last words are barely a whisper, yet the expression on his face is one of pure joy. Luna nods, smiles. ”Does your Starscape change when the Hydraean appears?”

Prompto hums thoughtfully before answering. ”Not really, not in a way that'd matter,” he says. ”Usually there's just a body of water somewhere nearby for her to swim in, but the gist of the scene stays the same. She doesn't really add anything to it, other than her presence.”

”And you don't interact with her.”

”Nah... We just – I wouldn't say we ignore each other, but like – she's there and I'm here, and we acknowledge that, but also leave each other be? Like I don't need to talk to her or anything, and I kind of get the feeling she doesn't really want me to.”

The words make perfect sense to Luna, who nods and flashes a bright smile. ”Has your Starscape ever changed?” Prompto shakes his head. ”How about your feelings about it – have they too stayed the same?”

This time, the question makes Prompto pause. He looks up, thoughtful for a moment. ”When I was a kid,” he begins slowly, ”it was more of a – yearning, I guess? Like I was always happier when I was running with Ramuh – oh, that's one of the reasons I started running for real, actually, heh – but afterwards I'd feel really... lonely, I think. Like I was stuck in a cage or something. But then Noct asked me to join him when he went searching for his Armiger, and suddenly I was, y'know, running around chocobo-back like I'd only ever done in my wildest dreams before!”

”It's always the chocobos with you,” Luna teases, revelling in Prompto's laughter before sobering up. Though all Astrals signify multiple different things – some see Ramuh as rage, others as nurture – both Ramuh and Leviathan are often linked to a desire for freedom, the inability to stay rooted to one place. Prompto's descriptions of his Starscape highlight these exact themes, yet Luna knows there is no freedom for royalty.

Prompto shakes her out of her thoughts with a soft, whispered, ”Luna?” and she smiles again, turns to face him properly.

”Correct me if I am wrong,” she says, holding onto his hand, ”but your Starscape is the epitome of freedom, is it not?”

”Yeah,” Prompto says, nodding. A worried look passes his face. ”Is that... not okay?”

Luna hurries to shake her head. ”No, no, not as such,” she tries to reassure him. ”I was merely... wondering, if you truly understand the life you're about to step into. Once you marry Noctis and take your crown, there will be very little freedom left for you, Prompto.”

To her surprise, Prompto begins laughing as soon as she stops speaking. ”You sound like the marriage councelor Iggy's made us see,” he smirks. ”Oh, don't worry, I know what's gonna happen. Maybe not personally, but I've been friends with Noct for, like, a decade now, and I've seen first-hand what it means to be royalty. Also, um, I think–”

Luna waits for the rest of the sentence with relief pooling in her chest, yet no more words spill into the night. Prompto flushes red, his eyes gleam with a layer of wetness, yet he's smiling like a love-sick fool. ”You think...?” Luna prompts him on.

”It's just,” Prompto stutters, holding onto his face, ”just – I mean – if I'm, if I'm with Noct, then that's all I want anyways. Like you could throw me in a jail and I'd still be happy if Noct was there with me. Oh, no, I wouldn't, I wouldn't want Noct to suffer like that, oh-my-gosh what am I saying–”

The laughter that booms from Luna's throat surprises even herself. ”Oh, Prompto,” she sighs when she's able to speak once more, ”you absolute _darling_ , you are the sweetest creature I have ever known.”

Her words make Prompto splutter. ”Lu-lu-luna!” he squeaks. ”Oh my gods, Luna, you can't just say something like that! What if someone heard?”

He looks so adorable Luna can't help reaching over to give his cheeks a little pinch. ”I am sure that hypothetical someone would join me,” she says. ”You are too kind a person, Prompto; never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Prompto sniggers, embarrassed. ”I'm pretty sure that if I ever start insisting I'm all nice and good, then that's the moment I've become the opposite,” he jokes. ”Um, but in all seriousness, you don't have to be worried about me settling in, Luna. I know I don't really fit the look one would expect from someone about to be a prince, but Iggy's been giving me etiquette lessons since our first meeting, and in Crownsguards training I learned a lot of things too. Plus I had to sign up for all sorts of lessons when me and Noct started to get serious, y'know, so it's not like – you don't have to worry about me, Luna. I'm ready. So, so, so ready.”

”I'm so glad to hear that,” Luna says. She takes hold of Prompto's hands once more and looks him in the eye. ”I wish I could give my blessings already, but I cannot go against the Astrals' laws. It won't be long anymore, I promise.”

”It's okay, Luna,” Prompto says. His smile is softer and kinder than she's ever seen and she knows he means every word. ”I know this isn't really up to you. But, um, did I – did I pass, then?”

”It isn't a passing thing, Prompto,” Luna says. She doesn't really have the words to explain what it actually is, because she knows the permission has already been granted and she's here to either confirm or refuse it, and in the end these talks have very little to do with the eventual outcome. In the two millennias the practice has been followed, only nine Oracles ever refused to give their blessings, and in most cases, it was due to an unwilling bride or a character so dark the Astrals would not look upon them anymore. Noctis and Prompto have nothing to fear on this front, yet the laws stand and ask for Luna's participation.

”I know, I know...” Prompto murmurs, sighing. ”I guess I just – it sounds kinda big, you know? Being examined and judged by the Six. And I kind of – wondered, if maybe I'm doing this wrong? 'Cause, well, I don't think Noct's influenced my Starscape at all and I just... thought that's kind of supposed to happen.”

Luna hums doesn't speak for a moment. She eyes the gifts on Ramuh's altar, the charred wood and the stones, and knows Prompto is wrong. ”Perhaps you shouldn't base your expectations on cheap romance novels,” she says, smirking when she hears an embarrassed splutter. ”Regardless of what most authors claim, the connection between two people and their Starscapes is rarely as obvious as that.”

”Well, yeah, I guess I kind of knew that,” Prompto mumbles, kicking his feet against the worn stone floor. ”But I still feel kind of bad that I can't get Noct in there.”

The word 'can't' catches Luna's attention and she looks away from the altar. ”You've tried, then? To incorporate Noctis, or Bahamut, in your Starscape?”

”Yeeah, kinda,” Prompto answers, staring off into the distance. ”I've tried to think about Bahamut, but at most I can sort of – feel his presence? But he's not anywhere near and no matter how I try, I can't get close to him. I just end up feeling like I'm running circles around something.”

There's a hint of nervous embarrassment in Prompto's tone, one Luna understands without explanation. ”That's fine,” she says in her most soothing voice, ”it's not a bad thing. Bahamut is notoriously difficult to get close to; I'd be more surprised if you _had_ been able to visit him on your own.”

This earns him a small, sad smile, but the usual cheeriness remains gone. Luna taps her foot against the floor and nods towards the altar. ”Besides, didn't you tell me you collected all those gifts during your journey with Noctis?”

Prompto looks up, surprised. ”Huh?”

”A piece of wood from a campsite, pebbles from wherever his feet took you... I'd say he's been here all along – you just haven't noticed it.”

”Oh,” Prompto says, sounding stupefied. ”I hadn't really thought about it like that.”

”Mm-hm.” The discussion ends there, except not really; the way Prompto is shifting about is enough to tell Luna there's something else still weighing down his heart. When he makes no move to speak up, she does: ”Is there something else still worrying you?”

Prompto takes a moment to answer. ”Iggy's been hounding me about getting my crown designed,” he says after a while.

”Ah,” Luna inhales, understanding. ”I see.”

Ever since the Founder King, Lucian kings and queens have worn crowns wrought in honor of their Chosen Astrals. For most of those in the line of Lucii, this has meant a piece designed after the Draconian, whose tale is so intervowen with the history of the Lucis Caelums that they can no longer be separated. Noctis' crown is similar in style with Regis', mirroring the sleek minimalism but taking it into a slightly more robust direction: the horns over his right ear are thicker, more substantial, and do not disappear into his hair like the thin whisps of smoke Regis wears.

She can't name the last Lucis Caelum whose crown was designed in Ramuh's honor. The Rogue Queen was one, that much Luna remembers, but between her and Prompto there must have been one or two more. Queen Aulea shocked the world by naming Ifrit her Chosen, only to set the blood-red rubies of her crown aside while Lucis fought war with Nifflheim.

”I guess I'm getting second thoughts,” Prompto says after a while, then gasps and hurries to continue: ”not about Noct, but about Ramuh! Jeez, me and my mouth!”

Luna chuckles a little. ”What do you mean, second thoughts?”

Prompto shrugs. ”Well, I mean... I'm just thinking, what if it's not Ramuh after all, what if it's the Tidemother and I'm just too dumb to notice it,” he says. ”Or maybe it's Shiva, 'cause sometimes there are snowy mountains there! I don't know, it sounds really stupid when I say it like this, but the crown thing is just so _final_ and I'm scared that I'm gonna fuck it up some–”

The last word gets lost under the roar of thunder striking something outside the Temple. Both Luna and Prompto startle, jumping up in their seats, and stare at each other while waiting for their heartbeats to settle.

Lightning doesn't strike mid-winter. Luna grins. ”Well, there's your answer, from the Fulgurian himself,” she laughs. Prompto stares at her in stunned wonder, speechless but no longer frowning. Luna stands up and holds out her hand. ”Come, let's go see.”

Outside, Gentiana is waiting. Prompto gazes right through her at the smoldering circle in the snow-covered courtyard, where one of Luna's templehands is already standing in the gold-and-purple robes of Ramuh's temple. The young girl looks up at the sound of their approach, then gasps in utter delight when she first realizes who she's facing and then the implications of it. The strike of lightning has already brought others to the courtyard as well, and the first flash of a camera light has Luna tightening her hold on Prompto's hand.

That's the picture that graces most newspapers the following morning: Luna and Prompto, standing before the Grand Temple of Ramuh, both of them smiling and laughing over the thunderstruck embers at their feet. The wedding is one step closer.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes almost five months for Noctis' time to come. His visits to Tenebrae are punctual, recurring, to the point where he's abroad more often than not, yet nothing happens. Every time he leaves, Luna has to divert her gaze because the pain and longing in his eyes is growing far too much for her to bear. Despite never lacking in anything, Noctis grew up lonely and apathetic, and for Luna to be the last obstacle between him and the love of his life... it hurts her, to be only thing keeping her beloved friend from taking what would ordinarily already be his.

In Tenebrae, spring means a near continuous fall of rain rapping against rooftops and casting blurry rivulets on window panes. When summer breaks, the weather will clear to blue skies and gentle warmth, but until then, they will live in damp grays and muddied greens as the nature learns to live after the harshness of the winter. It's on a day like this – chilly, wet, so endlessly gray – that Luna finally stands up from her chair and wanders the manor until she finds Noctis in one of the tall towers reaching into the dark clouds above the city.

”You look like a renaissance painting, love,” she comments upon entering the room, because he does: he's lounging on a settee beneath large windows, head resting on a palm as he gazes outside. He wears his brooding face, one that's a touch darker than his usual empty mask, and the sight of him so openly depressed has her heart aching.

”I feel like a renaissance painting,” Noctis murmurs, but he moves his legs all the same to give her space on the seat. His lips thin into a white line as he shifts about, a clear sign that he's in pain.

”Is your back bothering you?” Luna asks carefully as she sits down at the foot of the settee.

Noctis shrugs, and as he continues to arrange himself into a new position, Luna spots a corner of a heating pad sandwiched between his back and the seat. ”Always does, when the weather's like this,” he sighs, still staring into the far distance. ”Nothing wrong with it, the doctors say, but...”

Luna hums in sympathy. ”I'm sorry,” she says, and he gives her the tiniest smile.

”Don't be,” he says, finally turning to face her. ”I guess it's the memory of the thing making things worse, not the actual injury.”

It was a day like this when he got hurt, Luna remembers – dark and rainy, a flooding river driving the car off the road and down a cliffside. It was a miracle that Noctis ever survived the crash, and another to get him walking once more.

”Tell me about Bahamut,” she says after a while, voice clear and firm. He startles visibly at the order, not believing his own ears, yet whatever it is he sees on her face has him swallowing his resistance. Now is the time, they both know, and soon he will have permission to marry Prompto.

”I don't know what you want to hear,” Noctis admits after a moment, already growing tired and almost petulant. ”It's Bahamut and that's that. You already know that.”

”I do,” Luna says. In her Starscape, Bahamut is a constant presence, a steadfast, majestic figure at the edge of the sylleblossom field. Unlike the other Astrals, who are often linked with elements and natural powers, the Draconian is not; he is law, he is justice, he is duty and a number of other abstract ideals for the mortals to abide by. He is not Noctis' Chosen by choice, but by birth; the Lucii to worship other Astrals were all deviants straying from his path, chasing freedom instead of subservience. Noctis is not one of them, though, accepting Bahamut's rule without a fight. ”Describe your Starscape to me, please.”

Noctis takes his time, and when he speaks, his voice is listless, dejected. ”You haven't been to the Crystal room, right?” he asks, and when Luna nods, he repeats the motion. ”Yeah, that's what I thought. But that's my Starscape, the Crystal room, though it's only the sanctum, not the outer circle.”

”Is it the same style as the rest of the Citadel?” Luna asks in turn, trying to imagine the room Noctis is describing. The traditional floorplan of Bahamut's temple is designed after the Crystal room and consists of a circular sanctum, where only the priests are allowed, and then the outer circle, where the congregation is to gather; though Luna has not seen the original, she knows the design like the back of her hand.

Noctis nods. ”Yeah, the oldest parts,” he says. ”Dark and ugly, like something out of a horror movie.” He laughs, then, a bitter, tired sound. ”I fucking hate it.”

Whether he's talking about the Crystal room or his Starscape, it does not matter; he dislikes both and there's little Luna can say to that. ”Is the Draconian there?” she asks instead, continuing the conversation like she's supposed to do. Not yet, she thinks, wishing she didn't need to step so deep in her friends' thoughts, yet relieved that she can call them that. Not all past Oracles were on friendly terms with the Lucian crown.

”He's the Crystal, the Crystal's him,” Noctis shrugs. ”Yeah, he's always there, even if he doesn't always look like himself.”

Whereas getting answers out of Prompto was a matter of guiding him in the right direction, trying to keep Noctis talking is starting to feel like pulling teeth, hard and arduous. Luna understands, in a way; she knows Noctis has little care for the Astrals beyond the duty bound to his name, yet she wishes he were a bit more open. ”Can you describe the space, please?” she asks once more, praying for him to just give in and do what she needs him to do.

Noctis sighs and turns to stare at the rain-soaked windows. ”So it's a circular room, so tall the ceiling gets lost in shadows,” he begins. ”Black walls, black floors, shadows everywhere. The Crystal's in the middle of the sanctum, like it's back home, and I'm standing between it and where the doorway either is or should be, 'cause that at least changes sometimes.”

He breaks off there and Luna nods. ”Since there's no outer circle, are the walls closed?” she asks. Inside a temple, the wall separating the sanctum from the outer circle is broken into open archways to allow the congregation a view of the altar.

”There's windows,” Noctis answers, shaking his head. ”Tall stained glass windows, you know the kind. The designs change sometimes but they're all abstract, not really depicting anything. There's light coming in through them but I can't see outside.”

”Are you always in the same spot?”

”Pretty much, yeah.”

”And do you see the place through your own eyes, or from some other point of view?”

The question makes Noctis pause, but soon he continues: ”I'm always standing behind my own back, looking up at Bahamut. I – I used to think it was my dad, when I was a kid, 'cause I'm always wearing the black cape, but then I realized it's just me, dressed like the king I'm supposed to become.”

He flashes her a faked, exaggerated smile that's more like a grimace. It only serves to highlight the sarcasm in his words and Luna hesitates for a moment before speaking up. ”I'm sure you'll be a fine king when the time comes, Noctis,” she says carefully, ”but you need to–”

”Respect my duty, I know,” Noctis cuts in, sighing. ”I'm sorry, Luna, I just – my own Starscape is a fucking prison and I hate it, and I'm scared I won't be good enough a king when my dad dies. Like, it's just some dumbass tower and I'm all alone there and–”

”A tower?” Luna intterrupts him. ”Isn't the Crystal room somewhere at the very core of the Citadel?”

Noctis blinks at her, confused for a second. ”Oh, I guess I didn't mention that,” he says, apologetic. ”In my Starscape, it's in a really tall tower for some reason, y'know, almost like Rapunzel in the fairytale. No way in, no way out, only me and Bahamut for all eternity. _Yay_.”

There's something nagging inside Luna's mind, a thought she can't yet quite form into anything more concrete than a very vague feeling. At the same time, it's like she has finally found the thread to tug at, the line of question to follow until the very core of the matter. ”What's outside the tower?” she asks, not quite looking at Noctis but the gray skies behind him.

He shrugs. ”Who knows. I can't see through the windows and the door disappears if I try to face it, which in itself is pretty much impossible already, so...”

Luna thinks. ”Close your eyes,” she says after a while. ”Here and in the Starscape. Close your eyes.”

Noctis looks confused but he does as told, flinching when Luna rests her palm over his eyes. ”Don't look,” she speaks quietly, calmly; ”keep your eyes closed. You have other senses; you don't need your sight right now.”

”What d'you want me to do?” Noctis asks. One of his hands comes to clutch the side of her sweater.

”Don't look,” Luna repeats herself, smiling slightly. ”Feel, at first. How is the temperature in the room?”

A moment of hesitation. ”Not much like anything,” Noctis answers after a moment. ”Normal. Not hot but not cold.”

”Can your feet feel the floor?”

Noctis hums. ”It's cool, like the stones at the Citadel always are.”

”Any smells?” Luna asks next. The answer is silent, a slight shake of Noctis' head that almost dislodges her hand. ”Okay. Can you hear anything?”

The silence that follows is the longest one yet. When Noctis finally speaks up, he's careful, hesitant, like he's unsure of his own senses. ”Only rain, but that's the windows here,” he says. ”Thunder, too.”

There's no thunder in Fenestala, not right not, yet a bolt of electricity courses through Luna's body when she realizes what's happening. A sudden smile blooms on her face before she can resist it, and she schools hear features back to her normal calm before continuing. ”The thunder,” she says; ”If you can hear, why couldn't you see it? You have windows in the room, windows that let in light. You know this, Noctis, so open your eyes and see once more.”

To Luna, only the patter of rain is audible, but Noctis hears more. ”I can see lightning,” he murmurs after a moment, the corners of his lips quirking into a smile that disappears as soon as it appears. ”It's all outside, though.”

”So let's go to the door,” Luna tells him, still holding her palm over his physical eyes. ”Let's turn around to see what's out there. Your Starscape is yours, not Bahamut's or anyone else's, and you are always the one in control, even if it doesn't feel like it. Can you go to the door, Noctis? Can you do it for me, for Prompto?”

Her words work like magic. Noctis takes a steadying breath, swallows; those subtle movements feel like earthquakes under Luna's palm. Noctis takes a while but eventually he huffs a silent laughter and speaks: ”I'm at the door. My hands are against it.”

”So push it open,” Luna guides gently. Another swallow, another tremble, and then Noctis suddenly sighs and slumps down like a puppet with its strings cut, shaking Luna's hand off his face.

”There's nothing out there,” he murmurs, looking away. _Thanks for nothing_ , his posture says, but even in his hurt, he's too kind to voice the words out loud.

”Nothing?” Luna implores. ”Absolutely nothing?”

Noctis shrugs. For a moment, he just stares out of the windows, silent and gloomy, but then he laughs humorlessly. ”Mm-hm,” he hums. ”I wasn't kidding when I said there was no way out of the tower.”

Luna knows what she wants to hear, knows the words are almost there on Noctis' tongue, and so she continues to guide him forward. ”Nothing is not the same as nothingness,” she notes carefully.

Noctis mulls the words over and exhales. ”There's a storm outside,” he says, eyes glued on the windows. ”A massive thundercloud, cold rain, strikes of lightning. I can't see anything past it, and there's not even anything for me step onto. The doors open to a storm I can't pass and that's all.”

The bittnerness is back in Noctis' tone but Luna ignores it. Rainstorms hold too many ill memories for him to be ever able to enjoy them, and for his Starscape – his prison, as he sees it – to be surrounded by stormclouds must be akin to a nightmare.

Still, there's something Luna knows but Noctis doesn't. ”Is the Fulgurian there?” she asks. In his eyes, she must be leading the conversation according to his cues, but no; between the two of them, she is, at the moment, the one who understands Noctis' Starscape the best.

Noctis shakes his head. ”Just the storm,” he says, snorting. ”What business would he have with me anyways, when I've already accepted Bahamut?”

This time, divine intervention comes not in the form of lightning striking the ground outside the manor, but in a series of bright chirps from Noctis' phone. _Kweh! Kweh! Kweh!_ the noise rings out, echoing in the room, and both Luna and Noctis startle at the sound of it.

”It's Prompto,” Noctis says, glancing at the phone with something akin to a grimace. ”They've finished the crown.”

There's something in his voice, something hopeful and expectant, that brings a smile to Luna's lips. ”Did he send pictures?” she asks.

”I can look at them later,” Noctis offers with a shake of his head. ”Let's just – let's just get this done.”

Luna laughs, then, because of course Noctis has to resist this too; he simply wouldn't be himself if he did not try to complicate things further. ”Look at the pictures,” she says, voice firm but not unkind. ”You might be surprised.”

According to an old Lucian custom, if the heir to throne is unaware of their partner's Chosen Astral at the time the engagement is announced to the public, then the partner's crown must be wrought in secret. It's not in Bahamut's Law and so Luna can't remember all details of the story, but as far as she recalls, it's a matter of simple superstition, like so many other little customs relating to weddings and engagements. The crux of the matter is this: Noctis does not yet know Prompto's Chosen, and so he does not understand what Luna already knows.

With a deep, tired sigh, Noctis taps the messenger app open. Luna barely has enough time to glimpse little else but Prompto's flaxen head, promising a crown of gold, before Noctis sits up and begins zooming in almost furiously. He stares at the photograph for a moment, hair obscuring his face, but when he finally looks up at her, his expression is so full of cautious hope that Luna wants nothing else but to hug him.

When she takes the phone from his hands and studies the picture on the screen, she sees the golden crown almost blending in with Prompto's hair, simple but decorated with lightning bolts that require no explanations. Noctis understands, now, that the storm in his Starscape is a lot more than just that, and when Luna brings her gaze up to his face, the first thing she sees is the first tear rolling down his cheek.

”Tell me,” he says, begging. ”Tell me, Luna.”

She smiles and hands the phone back. ”I was starting to wonder if you'd ever understand,” she teases.

Noctis makes a pained, impatient sound. ” _Luna_.”

”Perhaps you should call your fiancée,” Luna says, smiling serenely. ”I, too, have a call to make – and a press conference to organize.”

She makes to stand up but is pulled onto Noctis' lap almost immediately, embraced by strong, shaking arms as he cries into her shoulder. Tears prickle at the corners of her own eyes as Luna twists to return the hug. It's been a long wait for everyone involved, and the pain she's felt does not even compare to how Noctis and Prompto must have been feeling, so close to getting each other but still forced to remain afar. Though the wait is not yet entirely over – she will release her statement in a day or two, but the actual wedding will likely be postponed with a full year – they no longer have to fear that Luna and the Six hold back their blessings.

”Thank you,” Noctis sobs into her shoulder, hot tears soaking into the wool of her knit sweater. ”Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The permission was never truly hers to give, only to deny and withhold, but Luna doesn't bother trying to correct him. As the current Oracle and head of all six temples, she will bless his marriage as Bahamut ordains, and that is final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and they all lived happily ever after, had three beautiful children via surrogacy, continued to uphold world peace and poured hours of work into ensuring that chocobos are better protected under international law. There was some fishing, too, and a day when the worst rainstorm was just that: rain.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to everyone who kudoed, commented, and subscribed!! Your feedback means a lot to me <3
> 
> I'm @missymoth over at tumblr :)


End file.
